Alone in the Dark
by Hksly
Summary: A young Dunmer, Saviren, leaves home in pursuit of something different. Searching for excitement and purpose, she finds just that within a new family that is very different from her old one. When things take an unexpected turn, she must learn to face the harshest parts of life, alone. Takes place in Cyrodiil and eventually Skyrim. Language, Violence, possibility of adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone.**

**I decided to attempt an Elder Scrolls fanfiction.**

**Until I get my feet wet, I probably won't post too often because I want to see what everyone thinks before pouring too much time into this thing. **

**So, that being said, please comment and review! I would appreciate your feedback. **

**Enjoy**

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It was remarkable how quickly twilight could envelope the land. Daylight had been still present merely an hour ago. Now, darkness reigned, the night's wings unfurling upon a young Dunmer. Alone in the woods. It hardly seemed a proper place for a she-elf barely into her twenties. She was no hunter and certainly no adventurer; she had barely seen the outside of her home town, Skingrad, for the matter.

Yes, she had lived a very sheltered life. Her parents babied her to no end, treating her almost like a toddler. Perhaps it was because she looked far too similar to a child. Her face had a lasting innocence to it - she had never suffered a scar or bruise. Her long black hair always shone beautifully, for it had always been brushed and well cared for.

A pampered life did now suit her though. She craved excitement and had been willing to do anything to simply be free of Skingrad and her parents. For these reasons, the Dunmer had fled from home.

She had _thought _she was headed towards the Imperial City, but surely she would have arrived by now? Perhaps she had gone too far north or not far enough east. Either way... It was becoming apparent that she may now be lost.

Lost in the dark. Alone and vulnerable with only an iron long sword, which was too heavy for the girl - once belonging to her father - to serve her. It was a humbling experience really, frightening as well. For once, she did not know what to expect. Even Secunda and Masser overhead were little comfort. Especially when the wolves began to cry out to the moons. The howls carried in the wind, making it nearly impossible to determine their origin. They sounded nearby, but it was difficult to tell.

"Breathe, Saviren, breathe." Her voice faltered and caught in her throat.

Another howl.

The girl's pace quickened to a jog and soon after, a sprint. The beat of her heart thumped with an erratic rhythm, fueled by adrenaline. Whether it was fear toying with her senses or not, Saviren was convinced that something was now following her in hot pursuit. She would not dare to look behind her. Instead she continued to run, fleeing to any given direction.

There was something up ahead. A faint glow of torch light beyond the tree line, it seemed. A beacon that rekindled hope within the Mer.

By now her lungs ached and begged for air; something her gasping breath did little to quench.

Her feet sunk into loose, rich soil and she stumbled slightly over a row of carrots. Still, she did not slow or stop until she had clambered up the shoddy stairs of the farm house. The loud creak of worn wooden planks signaled her arrival onto the dimly lit porch.

With shaky hands Saviren drummed a frantic beat upon the oaken door. Her balance wavered once the door swung ajar, opened by an irritable looking older man. His long grey hair was slightly messy and his brown eyes, though sad, glared down at the girl with spite.

"What is it? Who are you; what do you want?" He demanded.

Saviren inhaled sharply before speaking. "I am so sorry, sir, but I beg you to give me shelter if you have room to spare. I have been traveling and I..."

"No. I don't have room for you, nor do I have time to deal with your problems" His voice was cold and laced with pain. "I have my own troubles, you know?" Without so much as a farewell he retreated and slammed the door, a lock clicking into place.

Shocked, Saviren stood trembling from both original fear and a new sense of anger.

_No time to deal with my problems? The risk of being __**eaten **__by wolves was a wee bit more than a problem._

She turned and gazed out towards the woods. Another chorus of howls later rose above the canopy of trees towards the moons. Rigidly the girl stood, dumbfounded and terrified on the farmer's porch.

It has been said that fear can drive a person to do things they would never normally do. Irrational things. Saviren could not - _would not _- go back to the woods, headed to gods-know where with wolves and whatever else out there.

She had never picked a lock before; she never had reason to. But the lock was old and very simple - easy for even an inexperienced debutante such as herself to crack. Silently pushing the door open, the she-elf let herself into the house.

The old man sat with his back to her, shoulders slumping. He spoke softly to himself and Saviren briefly questioned his sanity.

Crouching low near the entrance of the house, she took in her surroundings. There were several tables, a fire place (which the old man perched in front of), and three beds.

_No room my ass. _

Upon one of the tables lay a kitchen knife. Its blade was small and rather unremarkable - simple steel, it would appear. Saviren quickly seized the cutlery and grasped it tightly in her hand.

She did not take time to dwell on what she was about to do, her only thoughts were on survival now; she could not go back out to the woods. As she crept up on the man, her mind's eye showed her what to do and she planned her next move with extreme care.

She was swift - one hand gripping the knife while the other covered the farmer's mouth and pulled his head back against her left shoulder. The knife made a quick sweep across the nape of his neck before the man could even resist the Dunmer's embrace.

Blood poured everywhere. It seeped into the fabrics of his clothes and dripped onto the cobble stone floor. It was surprising how much he bled. Saviren had never seen someone die before and it was a bit disturbing. She stepped back to avoid the spray of crimson, her nose crinkling at the metallic oder.

_Like copper. _She noted quietly.

Something fell from the man's hand only to be swallowed up by the flowing blood. Saviren paused and glanced over the fallen farmer to make sure he was certainly dead before reaching for the item. A portrait. She had to wipe away the blood to make out the faces of two men. They were very young and looked very much alike. Inscribed on the back was two names: Antus and Rallus. Sons of the farmer perhaps. It didn't truly matter though. Judging by the dates scribbled on the back, a start and end, it would appear that they had passed away. They posed no threat to her now.

Her attention fell upon the man once more. Her eyes observed the gore before her - something of her own creation. Shouldn't that bother her? To think, a man had died by her hands. It was certainly something she had never experienced before. So why was she not upset?

_He would have sent me to my own death out in the forest. His murder was... necessary. _

With a sigh, Saviren walked to the bed to her right and allowed her travel bag to slip from her shoulder. The sword strapped to her back also fell, a loud clang ringing through the silence as metal met stone. Her body relaxed as the burden was lifted, an ache she had not even noticed now dissolving.

Taking advantage of the food left on the tables, Saviren calmed the growling of her gut and ate contently until her stomach was close to bursting. Now, all that was left to do was sleep. Her eyes wandered back toward the largest of the beds, tucked in a cozy looking corner near the fire - the one she would obviously claim.

She wrapped herself within the blankets, curling up happily in the warmth of a lazy flame. Sleep came instantly.


	2. Chapter 2

The fire had collapsed into a pile of ash and coals, tainting the air with acrid scents, by the time Saviren finally stirred from her sleep. She was uncertain how long she had slept for and felt slightly out of sorts. She was still wrapped within the wool blankets, curled up like a babe. Gingerly, she opened her eyes to the light that seeped into the house through a small window across the way. Though the light was bright - it was close to noon now, she supposed - the majority of the house still lay in shadow.

She did not want to leave the warm bed, however; she felt it best to leave the farmhouse. Soon. Saviren avoided looking at the corpse sprawled upon the floor like a throw rug. She didn't need _that_ to be the first thing she awoke to. Shifting into a sitting position, the young Mer kicked away the bed's furnishings and swung her feet over the edge of the mattress. Her mouth gaped in a soft yawn, quickly cut short by a gasp.

A sudden sense of horror and helplessness gripped her like a vice and her ability to move was stolen as fear all but paralyzed her.

There was a man standing in the far corner of the house, leaning nonchalantly against the wall. Black robes hung from his form and melted into the shadows themselves, doing well to hide him up until now. She made to scream but felt the sudden chill of a spell embrace her, stealing her very voice away.

"Shh, shh, shh." His lips pulled into a subtle grin. From the darkness of his hooded face, Saviren saw shadowy eyes peering at her, laughter shining within them. "You sleep rather soundly for a murderer." It was then that he pulled away from the darkness and stepped into the small square of light cast on the floor through the window. His gaze was drawn to the old man and he laughed darkly, as if taking a moment to appreciate the kill. "That's good; you'll need a clear conscience for what I am about to propose." He drew nearer to her.

Finally, Saviren overcame her paralysis and quickly reached for the kitchen knife that she had placed on her bedside table; it was no longer there. Crimson eyes widened and soon filled with tears upon realization that she was absolutely defenseless.

The stranger seemed almost amused by her actions as he observed silently, no longer advancing on the Dunmer. "Dear child, there is no need to act in such haste." He was taunting her. "If I had wished to harm you, you would already be dead."

She tried to speak, her mouth moving futilely, as she was still unable to produce so much as a whisper.

The man grimaced and soon she could feel the spell pull away. "What were you saying?"

"What do you want with me?" Saviren asked coldly, her teary gaze slowly lifting to meet his eyes.

"In due time, dear child, in due time. First, an introduction." He pushed his hood back, the dark material falling softly to his shoulders. It was a slightly comforting gesture. Now that she was able to visually identify her... visitor, she felt it possible to humanize him. "I am Lucien Lachance, Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood." Lucien appeared to be in his late thirties. His long, dark hair was pulled into a ponytail and his brown eyes were cold and calculating. "...And you, you are a cold-blooded killer."

Saviren opened her mouth to protest against his accusation, now slightly indignant. Her crime _was_ justifiable. At least a little bit, anyways. "I had my reas-"

"Oh, do not feel the need to explain yourself to _me_, dear child. The reasons for the murder are not of interest." Lachance waved his hand dismissively. "What does interest me is the fact that you _are_ a murderer. A taker of life. A harvester of souls."

He went on to talk about someone called the Night Mother, and how she was pleased with Saviren. Who the Night Mother was, was an uncertainty, but Saviren noticed how the Speaker seemed to think highly of her. Naturally, she decided to choose her words carefully.

"Please continue, Mr. Lachance." This was said with rising interest after hearing that this man had an offering "to join a rather unique family". As far as she was concerned, she no longer had a family. She had left her family behind in search of something new, something exciting. It would appear that she had found it.

"Ah, I find your etiquette refreshing... On the Green Road to the north of Bravil lies the Inn of Ill Omen. There you will find a man name Rufio. Kill him, and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete. Do this, and the next time you sleep in a location I deem secure, I will reveal myself once more, bearing the love of your new family..." She had her orders.

With this being said, Lucien Lachance turned to the door and opened it. Stopping briefly in the doorway, Lucien offered an eerie farewell. "It was good to meet you, _Saviren._" He vanished and the door shut softly.

Startled with the sudden disappearance of the man, she sat in silent awe. He had proven to be skilled with magic when he silenced her with a mere flick of his wrist, but to become invisible so simply was something Saviren hadn't expected of him. To add to her bafflement, the man knew her name when she had not offered it to him during their conversation. She felt the sudden urge to leave; to be somewhere other than this damn farmhouse, bunking with a cadaver.

Rising swiftly, she gathered her things. In her haste, the she-elf bumped her travel bag and its contents scattered. From the pack clattered a dagger, one she had not seen before. Its length was comparable to her forearm. The blade was beautiful with intricate designs of gold carved into the ebony finish. Among the peculiar designs was a word, carefully inscribed near the hilt.

Woe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ok, so I want to apologize for taking a few days to get this chapter out. Writers block is always delightful.**

**Anyways, I do believe this chapter is also shorter...ish**

**Maybe**

**If so, I apologize. **

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The Blade of Woe, as Saviren took to calling it, was a fantastic weapon. The dagger was something sinister, no doubt - it seemed to _drink_ the very blood of its victim. It had penetrated Rufio's skull with deadly accuracy and an easy death befell the man while he slept. The kill was quick, clean, and perhaps even one to be proud of. However, Saviren did not take time to revel in her victory. She was quick to retrieve her weapon, a swift yank drawing the blade free from the man's head, and take her leave. Her journey to the Inn of Ill Omen had been difficult and the she-elf desired nothing more than to fall into one of the inn's many beds and sleep, but to linger around the scene of her own crime would be a fool's folly - a mistake not even acceptable for a rookie such as herself. No, she must leave the inn now before anyone noticed that she had even been here.

It did not take much stealth to creep past the sleeping inn keeper. Saviren had found the man leaning against the bar's counter, snoring softly, when she first arrived and was pleased to see that he had not moved since. The Dunmer slipped quietly through the door, leaving behind the inn's soft candlelight glow and ventured into the night's cold embrace.

Saviren shuddered at the daunting ambiance brought forth from the darkness of the world. No torchlight flickered in the distance, no stars twinkled in the heavens, even the moon was suffocated beneath a thick cloud coverage. She knew not where she was going and had no set location other than where ever it was that the path lead her. She trekked silently, hand constricting tightly around the Blade of Woe's hilt.

The uneasy feeling of being watched crept upon the girl and she fought the on-coming urge to go sprinting off to gods-know where like the first time she found herself alone in the woods. Instead, she inhaled slowly and continued down the path. Nothing disturbed the stillness of the night, not even the wolves cried out. The silence was unnerving and Saviren still could not shake the feeling of being watched. The sensation traveled with her until she finally had found the shelter she sought. Another inn, one far nicer than the Inn of Ill Omen, sat tucked away in the same lonely woods. Saviren worried briefly that if she were to lodge here for the night, she would remain too close to the Inn of Ill Omen - she could not have walked more than a half mile. However, when faced with the option of staying at this inn or heading back out into the night, Saviren quickly dismissed her former thought.

A Khaljit maiden watched as the Dunmer approached the front desk and welcomed the girl with a soft purr. "Greetings traveler, this one welcomes you to the Faregyl Inn. I am Abhuki. Does the traveler seek a bed? There is one here for you," The innkeeper paused and the purr vanished from her voice. "_if _you have the ten gold to rent it."

Saviren simply dropped the ten septims lazily on the counter before the Khaljit. The cat's ears perked at the sudden _clink_ of gold and her lips pulled back subtly into a toothy grin which displayed the feline's sharp teeth. "Very good. Up the stairs you must go, to the first door on your right. That is your room for the night." The she-elf muttered an inaudible "thank you" before trudging up the stairs and into her room where she collapsed upon the bed, barely managing to slip off her boots before sleep overwhelmed her.

She had slept in far longer than she had hoped to. It had to be well past midday by now and the sun's rays reached into every corner of her room, leaving no shadows to hide the Speaker who sat in the chair near her bedside. Still, Saviren started, then froze; not daring to move a muscle - much like a fearful child would do when expecting a monster to creep out from their closet. Only when Lucien gave a soft chuckle, did the girl relax. "Good morning, Mr. Lachance..."

"Good a_fternooon_, Saviren." The assassin corrected. The smirk that he wore suggested that he was slightly annoyed.

"How long have you been sitting there..?"

Lucien's expression did not change, but Saviren heard the laughter that seeped into his words. "You sleep _very_ soundly for a murderer."

She blushed softly and quickly sat upright, her fingers brushing through her hair nervously, and said nothing. She simply waited, looking at him expectantly.

Lucien's eyes darkened and his smirk faded. The man's voice took on a more formal tone and he was back to business-as-usual. "So the deed is done." It was a statement, not an inquiry. "How do I know this? You'll find that the Dark Brotherhood knows a great many things. For you are now part of that family."

Saviren nodded eagerly but soon paused. What did that mean? What was she to do? What was expected of her? She had so many questions but she was afraid to ask them all at once. Annoying Lucien seemed like a foolish idea. She bit down soflty on her tongue before speaking again. "Now what?" Her voice was but a whisper.

"Now you embrace your fate."


	4. Chapter 4

**Longer chapter :D**

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Cheydinhal was beautiful and, for a moment, Saviren had to pause and admire its charm. The soft purple and white houses, each one similar to the other, gave the city the appearance of uniform and orderliness. A small creek stretched across the breadth of Cheydinhal with several willow trees rooted along its banks. The Dark Elf smiled, taking in the splendor of the quaint town. It had a unique sense of innocence to it - almost storybook.

How ironic that an assassins guild should be located here.

Yes, somewhere among the dollish houses of Cheydinhal lay a haunt, hidden away from the rest of the seemingly sinless city. It did not take long to find the house - Lucien had described it in their last meeting - in fact, it was hard to _miss_. The old building sat near the eastern gate of Cheydinhal and it was obvious that the house had not hosted an owner for some time now. Paint faded and peeled from its wooden frame, which now crumbled with rot. The windows were boarded up, each plank held in place by rusting nails. It was a shame because the house had obviously once been beautiful like the rest.

Despite her budding curiosity, Saviren would not allow herself to linger so near the hideout. She could feel the eyes of many of Cheydinhal's citizens upon her, watching the foreigner in curiosity.

The young elf took to strolling the streets, enjoying the new sights and sounds of it all. Several people roamed about the town as well, many of them taking interest in the new face among themselves. Some offered a polite greeting while others just gawked rudely. Regardless, Saviren compelled a smile to her lips, if for nothing else than for show. They could stare all they wanted, but so long as she conducted herself in a manner of virtuousness, everyone would come to believe that she was a nothing but a young girl looking for new sights to see – a partial truth.

It was no longer difficult for Saviren to approach the abandoned house now. With night's veil upon the sleeping city, the curious gazes of passing pedestrians no longer tracked her movements.

Crouching before the door, she retrieved a slender lock pick from her breast pocket. The lock was more advanced than any she had dealt with and Saviren tampered carefully with the tumblers. Several times she felt the pick near its breaking point and she feared that she may lose it, the last of her supply, and be left without a way to infiltrate the building. Her patience paid off however, when the lock finally yielded with a satisfying _click_.

Inside it was damp, dreary, and very dark. With arms outstretched, Saviren relied on her sense of touch alone to guide her. She stumbled blindly down to the basement, each step taken kicking up dust that prompted a sneeze from her. Her hands guided her along the cold stone of the wall as she traveled further, down a narrow corridor.

Through the darkness was a light at the end of the tunnel, eerie and vermilion. Distracted, her footing was easily lost on a small set of stairs that went unnoticed. Saviren lurched forwards and fell onto her hands and knees, cast into the strange aurora of light. She slowly lifted her gaze.

Before her loomed a large black door, depicting a rather macabre scene. There was a large skull carved into the ebony surface: upon the skull's forehead was a handprint – five fingers splayed widely. Below were the etchings of six figures - a mother and her five children. Four of the children gazed up at the skull, arms raised in prayer and worship while the fifth child clung to its mother whom cradled the youth in her arms.

The significance of the image was lost on Saviren, and yet she still found herself captivated. Crawling forward, she came to kneel before the door, hand raised to its surface so her fingers may trace the peculiar design. It was then that a soft voice called out, seemingly emanating from the door itself, barely louder than a whisper.

"What is the color of night?"

The girl tore her hand away from the door in alarm, startled by the question. She paused, sitting in fearful silence before recalling the instructions received from Lachance, after the slaying of Rufio. _Enter the basement, and attempt to open the Black Door. You will be asked a question. Answer thusly..._

"Sanguine, my brother."

There was a long pause before the door glided opened. "Welcome home."

Rising from where she knelt, Saviren cautiously continued through the doorway. The young elf's footsteps were slow and unsure as she walked past the door, her red eyes darkening with suspicion. The Black Door closed, settling into its frame with a resonating _thud_ behind the Dark Elf. She stared, almost expectantly, as if she assumed it would have more to say.

It was the sound of laughter that interrupted Saviren's fascination with the strange door. Turning, her eyes met the bright orange gaze of an Argonian, observing Saviren with obvious amusement. Saviren fidgeted under the stranger's stare. She hadn't been aware that anyone was watching her.

As if realizing the discomfort she had caused, the Argonian quickly stepped forward and offered a boisterous greeting in attempt to dispel the arising awkwardness. "Greetings! Greetings! I am Ocheeva, mistress of this Sanctuary. Lucien has told me all about you. Let me welcome you to the Dark Brotherhood!"

Saviren blushed, still continuing to fidget slightly. "A pleasure to meet you, mistress. Mr. Lachance told me to report to you."

So formal and polite – Ocheeva liked this one already. "Yes, I am sure he did." The Argonian's grin broadened. "You see; Lucien isn't here very often. His duties with the Black Hand keep him very busy, so he trusts me to keep this Sanctuary in order."

It was easy to see why. Ocheeva was an obvious leader. It was in the way she walked, the way she talked; it was simply part of who she was.

Saviren also noticed that she looked fairly young, considering her role as Sanctuary leader. It was always hard to tell the age of an Argonian, but Ocheeva could not have been much older than Saviren herself. She happened to be very beautiful as well. It was her scales – all different shades of greens, purples, and pinks.

Ocheeva noticed that the girl was not a maid of many words - more of an observer, a listener. That was fine, for there was much she needed to go over with the new recruit anyhow. "Please," the Argonian paused. "Lucien said your name was… Saviren, correct?"

The young elf nodded, smiling.

"Allow me to give you a tour of your new home, Saviren."

Ocheeva lead her through the main hall of the Sanctuary, past the Dark Guardian whom chattered his teeth - a skeleton's form of greeting, perhaps.

Saviren's eyes widened, staring with timid enthrallment at the skeletal being.

"Don't mind him." Ocheeva said. "He is just a Dark Guardian: an undead servant to the Dark Brotherhood and to this sanctuary in particular. There are many like him in the other Sanctuaries around Cyrodiil."

"You can control the dead?" Saviren breathed, fascinated. She knew nothing about magic or necromancy for that matter, but it did not cease to amaze her.

"Oh yes, but we can teach you more about that later."

Saviren nodded and followed after the Sanctuary mistress. They pushed past a set of heavy iron doors opening to a small room filled with different forms of targets. Some of the wooden figures were modeled to resemble a human while others where beginners' practice targets; dark red bull's-eyes painted on them for show.

"This is our training room. Usually, you will find many of our members here. Most of them are out on contracts at this time though." Ocheeva explained. "You are welcome to come here any time you wish and practice whichever skill you seek to improve; blade, blunt, archery… or magic."

Saviren chuckled. "I don't even know how to _use _magic."

"Ah, well… I think I know someone who might be able to help. Follow me."

Once out of the training room, they crossed the main hall and pushed past another set of heavy iron doors - identical to the ones across the way. A curving hallway lead to a large room with many beds pushed against the walls. Each bed had a table and a chest. Two large stone pillars rose from the center of the room, dividing it into two sides. In the far corner was a round table with three chairs. At the table sat a male Khajiit dressed in green mage robes.

"Obviously, this is the sleeping quarters. Your bed is right there." Ocheeva smiled and pointed to one of the beds on the right side of the room. That being said, Ocheeva quickly lead Saviren over to the Khajiit who sat reading a book contently. "And this is M'raaj-Dar. He knows a great deal about magic and will be able to tell you anything you wish to know about the dark arts."

The Khajiit's ears twitched at the sound of his name as he tore his emerald gaze from the yellowed parchment of his book, a clawed finger holding his place on the page. There was a look of hostility in his eyes the moment he saw Saviren. Ears angling back to pin against his skull, M'raaj-Dar gave a sudden hiss. "Ocheeva, who is _this_ that you have brought to our Sanctuary?"

Both smiles faded from the expressions of the mistress and the recruit. "Her name is Saviren." Ocheeva's voice practically dripped with a new tone of reprimand, her bright orange gaze no longer full of warmth. "She is a new member that _our Speaker_ has brought to us. And you, M'raaj, are expected to welcome her appropriately to our family. She is your new Dark Sister, after all." The Argonian's tail lashed, giving her words a sense of finality. There was a long pause of awkward silence hanging thickly in the air around the three.

The Khajiit remained silent as if he dare not speak - fearful of letting loose the array of insults and offences that prickled the tip of his sharp tongue.

Saviren was baffled by the unexpected hostility. Her red eyes adverted to the floor, not wishing to meet the glare that M'raaj-Dar still held her in.

It was Ocheeva who finally spoke again, this time a coy smile held on her reptilian lips. "Oh, and she is interested in magic – a subject you are all-too familiar with. I expect you will be able to teach her a great deal about the spells she wishes to learn, yes?"

The Khajiit's ears suddenly shot upright upon his head, eyes widening in shock and appall. "Mistress… you don't truly expect me to waste my time and effort on this _recruit_." The word was spoken as if it were an insult, his voice reclaiming a snarling tone.

"I do indeed." With a swift hand, the Argonian snatched away M'raaj-Dar's book, much like a mother would when taking away a child's favorite toy in order to exact punishment. Shutting the book, Ocheeva glanced at the cover. "Ah, the Five Tenets; perfect. You may start by teaching our dear sister about the Brotherhood's laws." She turned her attention to Saviren – still sheepishly gazing at the floor. "Do not worry, dear family member: M'raaj has a sharp tongue, but he won't bite. Besides, I am sure he will prove to be an _excellent _teacher, right M'raaj?"

To Saviren's horror, Ocheeva left her in the Khajiit's company, parting with an apologetic farewell and one final warning addressed to M'raaj-Dar. The two were left in a daze, both trying to wrap their brain around what had just happened. Finally, after a long pause, M'raaj was the one to shatter the silence. "You don't even know the Five Tenets? For Sithis' sake…"

"Look whiskers, I don't know what your problem is towards me, but I am not asking you to be my friend. I just needed a teacher and Ocheeva seems to think you will actually be helpful for some reason." Saviren threw a hand over her mouth, cutting her ranting short. The words had fled from her lips so quickly; the Dunmer had not even been able to stop them.

"_Whiskers?_" M'raaj looked about ready to claw her face off. "Let's get one thing straight." His paw seized the book from the table where Ocheeva had left it. With surprising force, the book was hurled at Saviren who floundered to catch it. 'The Tenets prevent me from killing you, but I don't have to like you. I will sell you equipment and answer whatever idiotic questions you may have, but only because Ocheeva is making me. That being said, I suggest you take that book and read it. The rules are fairly simple and even you shouldn't have much trouble understanding them." It was then that the Khajiit abruptly stood from his chair, making to leave before pausing. "An outside like you doesn't even know who Sithis is, do you?"

Saviren glared up at M'raaj-Dar with crimson eyes that burned with loathing. She refused to allow this cat to intimidate her, even now as he stood towering over her. She hated to admit it, but he was right. She had no idea who or what Sithis was. Reluctantly, she shook her head, earning a scoff from the Khajiit.

"Sithis is the Dark Brotherhood's deity; our Dread Father, he is often called. He was the creator of our unholy organization and it is he who continues to guide us to this day through The Night Mother, who is the voice of Sithis. Sithis also rules over the souls of both his loyal followers and those sent to damnation by their hand in the Void. Breaking any of the Tenets listed in that book will invoke his wrath."

Saviren watched as the Khajiit stalked out of the sleeping quarters, leaving her to her own devices. Only after hearing the iron doors clang shut did she allow a sigh to escape. _What a wonderful first day._ Walking over to her bed, she flopped onto the soft mattress, inhaling the fresh scent of clean linens. Kicking off her shoes, she wriggled into the warmth of thick wool blankets. Looking over the book in hand, Saviren sighed again and opened it. The parchment crinkled loudly at her touch and she deduced that the book was rather old. With a gentle touch, she flipped through the pages and carefully read the contents.

_Tenet One: Never dishonor the Night Mother. To do so is to invoke the wrath of Sithis._

_Tenet Two: Never betray the Dark Brotherhood or its secrets. To do so is to invoke the wrath of Sithis._

_Tenet Three: Never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior. To do so is to invoke the wrath of Sithis. _

_Tenet Four: Never steal the possessions of a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the wrath of Sithis._

_Tenet Five: Never kill a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the wrath of Sithis. _

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**So we got to meet two of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary members.**

**Next chapter should cover the rest of them... **

**You will also notice next chapter that I make a few changes to some of the characters. They won't be anything drastically different, just a few minor adjustments really (I am sure you will notice that some of the ages don't match the in-game ages). **

**Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter.**


	5. Chapter 5

**So like I said in my last author's note, you will probably notice a difference in age for most of the characters. This is because I have decided to make my story take place ****before**** the Oblivion crisis, about ten years or so. I also made the ages different just because it is how I wanted to portray certain characters and, well, it's my fanfic :3 **

**Anyways, in case anyone is curious I will be posting all of the character's approximate ages in another author's note below this chapter. **

**I also just want to quickly address the issue about the length I have been making my chapters. I guess I have been making short chapters and I aim to fix that soonish. But like I said, I won't be getting too involved with this story until I know that I actually have more people truly interested in reading it. So... reviews are nice. ;) *hint hint* I would love to hear your opinion (good or bad) and if there is any suggestions you guys may have, I am all ears.**

**Enjoy. **

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"When is she going to wake up?"

"Well if you keep talking so loudly, you're going to wake her yourself."

"Good!"

She heard strange voices. Did mother have guests over? Saviren inwardly groaned. Why couldn't her mom have quieter friends? They were always gossiping and laughing and… The cloudiness of sleep slowly dissipated and she remembered that she was not home. Cheydinhal was far from Skingrad and mom was not _here. _

_Oh gods, mother __**better**__ not be here._

The Mer opened her eyes, blinking away the blurriness from her vision.

"Oh look! She's finally getting up!" A young Brenton girl, sitting on the bed next to Saviren's, exclaimed while she practically _bounced_ with excitement, her blonde and wavy hair flouncing about. "Good morning!"

There was another woman standing at the foot of Saviren's bed, a Bosmer, much older than the blonde or Saviren herself. "Goodness, Antoinetta, keep your voice down. You are going to give the poor girl a head ache." The Mer gave an apologetic smile, her slightly wrinkled face expressing a sincere amiability. "I'm sorry that we woke you, dear. Antoinetta here has been dying to meet you."

Saviren was not a morning person but it was hard to avoid smiling. After her encounter with M'raaj-Dar last night, it was nice to see some friendlier faces. "It's no big deal. Good morning to the both of you." She made to sit up in her bed, shifting slightly. Her foot slipped past something _furry_. Saviren scrambled backwards and nearly fell from her bed. There was a responding squeak, sounding close to indignation as the largest rat that she had ever seen scurried from underneath her blankets. As she stared in horror, the other two women began to laugh.

Why on Nirn are they laughing? Saviren promptly removed herself from the bed and backed away with a scream as the rodent made an attempt to crawl into her lap.

Antoinetta practically shrieked with laughter, clapping her hands together in utter amusement. "Oh don't be afraid of Schemer! He's really a sweetie." She stood and picked up the rat, carrying him over to the very startled Dark Elf. Her hands hooked under Schemer's armpits as she cheerfully displayed the rat, arms outstretched towards Saviren. "I think he likes you."

Saviren narrowed her eyes, taking another step back as Antoinetta approached. "The rat has a name?" Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion as she continued to stare at the creature dangling lazily from the Brenton girl's grasp. His black eyes stared back at her while whiskered nose twitched curiously at the Dunmer's foreign scent.

"Of course he does! Schemer is our baby boy." Antoinetta pulled the rat into a cradling embrace so that he lay on his back like the baby boy she claimed him to be. "Isn't that right, Schem?"

Saviren slipped past them, narrowly avoiding Schemer's long tail that dangled from the girl's arms. Coming to stand beside the Bosmer instead, Saviren hemmed nervously at the mounting silence as the laughter died down. "Well… it is very nice to meet you Antoinetta and, um…"

The Bosmer chuckled, blushing slightly. "Oh, where are my manners? I am Telaendril."

"Ah, a pleasure to meet you then, Telaendril. My name is-"

Antoinetta beat her to it, chirping enthusiastically as she filled in the blank. "Saviren Aaroenin of Skingrad." The girl giggled wildly at the startled look on Saviren's face. "Lucien has already told all of us about you."

"Oh…"

Telaendril gave an exasperated sigh and shook her head at Antoinetta. "You could have at least let her tell you herself. But yes, Lucien has already told many of us about you. In fact, I bet the others are probably expecting to meet you upstairs."

Saviren began running her fingers through her dark hair, tangled and frizzy from sleep, at the thought of facing a possible crowd. "Shall we head upstairs then?"

Antoinetta made a funny face, nose scrunching up as her blue eyes scanned over the she-elf who was still wearing yesterday's clothes. "Aren't you going to get dressed first?"

There was a sudden warmness in her cheeks as Saviren blushed slightly. She was used to lounging around in her sleepwear all day if she wished, back in her home in Skingrad. Her teeth bit softly on her lower lip, worrying it as she heard Telaendril scoff at the young blonde girl's forwardness. She tried to think of a good outfit to wear - most of her clothes were dirty - stuffed messily into her traveling bag, which still sat on the floor beside her bed. "What should I wear?" She asked sheepishly.

"Your new armor, of course!" It was then that Antoinetta lost interest in Schemer and all-but tossed the startled rat onto Saviren's bed. Quickly, the Brenton pushed past the other two women and popped open the chest sitting at the end of Saviren's bed. Quickly, she retrieved a set of armor with a matching pair of boots and a cowl, identical to what both herself and Telaendril wore. It was beautifully crafted from very light leather which had been treated and dyed violate, so dark that it verged ebony. Saviren gingerly took the armor from Antoinetta, feeling the soft trickle of magic spread across the palms of her hands. "Enchanted armor?" She gasped. _What a wonderful idea_.

"Mhm – an assassin's best friend." Telaendril was smiling again as she watched the Dark Elf take such interest in her new apparel. "It will fortify your stealth. Why don't you try it on while we go upstairs and tell everyone you will be coming up soon?"

"Yeah! We can get a sort of 'Welcome Home' gathering together for you! It will be perfect." Antoinetta's smile had actually grown; something Saviren hadn't thought _possible, _this time displaying pearly teeth. It was hard to believe that this girl was an assassin. "Hurry up and get dressed, alright?" Antoinetta grabbed Telaendril's arm and proceeded to skip down the hall, dragging her friend with her.

Saviren heard the iron doors clang shut, the metallic sound echoing through the winding hallway of the sleeping quarters, signaling that she was alone. Placing the shrouded armor on the top of her chest, Saviren began to unlace her doublet and leather pants, allowing the garments to fall from her body. She was then able to slip into the armor with ease, leather hanging a bit too spaciously, even after drawing the straps as tightly as they would be pulled.

Her hands fell to her hips, a frown curling upon the young Dunmer's lips. _Why am I so damn tiny?_ With a growl of frustration, her fingers began tugging upon the buckles and straps again, willing them to compensate for her petite form. Suddenly, the leather wrapped taut, shrinking to fit skin-tight to the Dark Elf as if obeying her unspoken command. Magicka surged over her before lulling to a gentle whisper against her skin as the armor conformed to the natural curves of her body, a small gasp falling from her lips. Saviren stared appreciatively down at her outfit, a satisfied grin taking place on her features. Quickly pulling knee-high boots over her feet and tying her hair back into a loose tail, raven locks trailing down to the small of her back, Saviren hurriedly strode up to the Sanctuary's common room.

"There you are! We were wondering if you would _ever_ come up. We thought we might have to drag you out of the basement." Antoinetta was the first to meet Saviren out the doors, giving the Dunmer's hair a jesting tug, emphasizing the facetious notion of dragging her out from downstairs.

With a coy laugh, Saviren allowed herself to be led arm-in-arm by the Brenton girl to meet the others who had gathered. She was alleviated to find that M'raaj-Dar was not present. Ocheeva and Telaendril also stood amongst the crowd of unfamiliar faces, enabling her to draw comfort from their familiarity.

The first to greet Saviren was an Orc, stepping forward from the group; arms opened wide in preparation to embrace her. "Welcome! Welcome to the family!" Before the strong arms could seize her, looking as if they could crush the poor Dunmer with a slight squeeze, Ocheeva rested a hand on the Orc's bicep. "Gogron, no!"

Saviren watched wide-eyed, body tense; braced for the Orc's grip to encircle her, even after his arms lowered reproachfully while offering her an apologetic smile. There was responding laughter from the crowd and even Saviren began to chuckle.

"Gogron doesn't know his own strength." Telaendril placed a small hand on the Orc's muscular shoulders with a small pat before her hand fell into his, their fingers locking together.

Another Argonian stepped forward as the laughter died down, taking place beside Ocheeva. The two of them looked strikingly similar to one another despite the darker shade of green scales donned by the male. His crimson-orange eyes, paralleling Ocheeva's friendly gaze, shone brightly with an amused grin still toying scaled lips. "Do try to refrain from smothering our newest Little Sister, Gogron."

Saviren grinned broadly. _Little Sister… _She liked the way that sounded - it made her feel welcomed - like she belonged.

"I welcome you to our family, and this Sanctuary." His voice rasped softly, a friendly tone laced within his words. "May you find yourself home here, in the loving embrace of our Lady the Night Mother. I am Teinaava."

"A pleasure to meet you, Teinaava."

Another man stood idly by, watching as the family welcomed their newest member. Saviren turned to him - the only stranger left - with a smile. The man returned the gesture; smile spreading across a gaunt face to reveal a pair of fangs. Saviren placed a hand to her own lips, quickly suppressing a gasp. The man did not seem to take offence. A thin brow rose almost amusedly as crimson eyes fixed her with a calculating stare. "Warmest greetings to you. I am Vicente Valtieri. I provide assignments for all new family members. Please… do not let my appearance unnerve you. The needs and Tenets of the Dark Brotherhood come before my own needs as a vampire" His soft-spoken voice was comforting to the young Dunmer. Giving him a rueful smile, Saviren dipped her head in a short and respectful bow before meeting his sanguine gaze once more.

He looked as if he were a man in his late thirties, with lengthy pale brown hair tied into a tail and a face unmarked by age. It was the wisdom in his eyes that revealed knowledge beyond the years of the young man that he appeared to be.

"I don't suppose you have any contracts currently available..." A sly curve shaped her lips as she inquired hopefully. Her fingers began to fidget slightly under the vampire's gaze as she noticed the way his eyes suddenly shifted to intrigue.

"Eager are we?" Vicente chuckled darkly as the rest of the family huddled closure to hear his hushed voice. "How do you feel about pirates?"

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**Here are the ages**

**Saviren: 22, Lucien: 36, Antoinetta: 20, Telaendril: 45, M'raaj-Dar: 32, Gogron: 43, Ocheeva and Teinaava: 25. Vicente is still around 300 years old, like in the game, but I decided to adopt Skyrim's vampire policy and have him remain looking like the age when he was originally bit, which I am going to assume is around 38 years.**


	6. Chapter 6

_Pirates… Pirates are strong, cruel, and they always come in crews. _

Saviren set at the edge of her bed with a strand of her hair wrapped around her finger, twirling the lock thoughtfully. She was vaguely aware of Antoinetta as she sat beside her. For once the girl was silent and composed instead of bouncing off the walls like she typically would, seemingly aware of Saviren's reticent distress.

"You know, I once traveled by prison ship." The blonde nodded grimly after receiving an inquisitive look from the Dunmer. "It was cramped and dark. There was little room to move around, but plenty of shadowy nooks to hide in. And you are an assassin. I am sure you will be able to use that to your advantage."

Saviren scoffed before placing her head in the palms of her hands. "I've been here for less than a week; that _hardly_ makes me an assassin."

"But you have already killed two people!" Antoinetta exclaimed in a high-pitched voice, sounding close to indignation, which gave way to a sinister laugh. "You are obviously doing something right."

"How profound…"

"Well it's true! You have proven that you are at least somewhat skillful with a blade."

"Oh yes, so skillful." Saviren's voice dripped with sarcasm as she proceeded to make rough hacking motions with her hand, as if it held a dagger. "There truly is an art to stabbing feeble old men when they aren't looking."

Antoinetta rolled her eyes, throwing up her hands in vain. "Well that means that they never even saw you coming, right? And you have been training with Vicente for the past couple of days. I think you'll do fine, Saviren." The Breton girl gave a pleasant smile.

Saviren returned the smile before rising and walking over to her chest. As she lifted the heavy wooden lid, hinges creaked softly. She retrieved her shrouded armor and proceeded to check it over for the third time. The leather did not show any sign of wear or tear.

Walking over to one of the stone pillars in the center of the sleeping quarters, Saviren quickly undressed from her sleepwear behind it and then set to work buckling up the armor, pulling the straps tight, and then waiting for magicka to do the rest. Returning to where her friend sat, Saviren drug her travel pack from under her bed, which had been pre packed with all the essentials for her trip. From it the she-elf took the Blade of Woe and strapped it securely to her left hip with the sheath bound tightly.

As Saviren combed through her hair and tugged it into a neat ponytail, Antoinetta fetched a cloak from her own chest and brought it to the Dark Elf. "Here, you will want this. Be sure to wear it when you get to the Imperial City; we wouldn't want any of the guards to see you roaming the streets in Dark Brotherhood armor."

Saviren grinned and took the cloak from her hands. The fabric was soft and very light. Of course, it was black. What better color for an assassin to wear than that of darkness itself? "Thank you, Antoinetta."

The two women made their way upstairs to the common room and Saviren said her good-byes before partaking on her trip to the Imperial City.

_Pirates are also loud, stupid, and clumsy…_

Saviren had been keeping an eye on the _Marie Elena_ for the past hour now. During her quiet observations concealed in the masquerade of night's shadows, she noticed that the ship's entire crew seemed beyond wasted. Some still stumbled around on deck with drink in hand, often sloshing the ale from their tankards haphazardly. Her lips were curled contemptuously, seemingly fixed into a grimace.

It had been slightly past midday when Saviren had arrived at the Imperial City – only a few hours away from Cheydinhal when traveling by foot. She had been able to see the city's famous spire protruding into the clouds overhead long before reaching the city itself. It had been a breath taking sight: her first look at Cyrodiil's most legendary city.

It was beautifully designed with ornate alabaster walls proudly encircling it and even prouder looking guards marching through the streets. Their steel armor clanked loudly with each step and shone in the sunlight like a beacon. Many of them wore a smug scowl on pursed lips. Saviren quickly learned to hate them.

Feeling that it would be better to wait for the cover of nightfall to begin surveillance on her contract, Saviren carelessly spent the rest of the day roaming blissfully through the Imperial City's many different districts. Only when the sun had sunk behind the horizon did she venture to the Waterfront.

She had been stationary for far too long. Her legs were beginning to protest as she crouched in the shadows with knees bent uncomfortably for quite some time now. She had grown bored of watching drunkards mindlessly walk, talk, and occasionally burst out into song. It was time for a better look at the ship herself.

Slowly Saviren rose from where she sat atop the quarterdeck of the Bloated Float - a charming little inn contrived from a retired ship, which she had chosen as her place to spend the night - hidden beneath the curtain of its sail. She stretched her legs tentatively, knees threatening to buckle under her own weight. Dropping carefully from the roof, the Dunmer landed with a soft _thud_ before casually strolling down the curving pathway that ran along the harbor's edge.

The _Marie Elena_ was beautiful from a distance. It had a boastful build; seemingly a ship truly worthy of seaward travels. However, as she neared the craft, its beauty faded; swallowed up by tattered sails and stained wooden planks.

"Beautiful, isn't she? The _Marie Elena_…"

Saviren raised a brow, turning to face another Dunmer woman. The stranger wore simple clothes but sported a rather elegant looking cutlass. The blade was finely polished and looked about as sharp as M'raaj-Dar's tongue. The woman seemed to have taken notice in the way Saviren was quietly scrutinizing the ship and was sneering blatantly at her. "Damn fine ship, with a damn fine crew. I should know; I'm her first mate. Malvulis is the name." Malvulis' words were proudly spoken.

_How could anyone be proud of this sodden piece of shit? _Saviren's thoughts were interrupted as the first mate continued pretentiously. "So believe me when I tell you we don't like it when people snoop around in our affairs. You get near that ship and my men will run you through. Now, get out of my face."

A grin tugged at Saviren's lips. "Do forgive me, ma'am… Just looking around. I meant no ill will to you or your… _vessel_." Her words were bitterly laced with sarcasm, but the look of animosity that she received from Malvulis was downright astringent.

Saviren's grin quickly faded when the first mate's fist suddenly smashed into her lower jaw, connecting painfully with enough force to cause her to stumble back.

_Fucking hell… _She was visibly taken aback by the impulsive punch but her pride would not allow her to cry out, even as the pain grew increasingly worse across the right side of her face. Saviren watched with wide eyes as Malvulis brought back her other fist.

The second hit never landed because, this time, Saviren had been expecting it. With raised arms, she intercepted one shot after the other, just barely able to keep her footing each time the pirate made to strike her.

She tried not to panic, tried to think clearly – something Vicente had been lecturing to her about for the past few days. "_You must always maintain control of your thoughts. The moment that you stop thinking clearly – the moment you panic – is the moment you leave yourself at your enemy's mercy._" She would not let this _sea hag _get the better of her.

Malvulis was panting after throwing a few more punches and her breath carried the sickly tang of a night's worth of drinking. The pungent odor of ale was enough to almost make Saviren gag, but it also gave her hope. _She's drunk; just like the rest of the damn crew. _It would explain why she was so belligerent at least.

The force of Malvulis's punches were waning fast and Saviren planned to use this to her advantage. When another swing was taken, fist aimed towards her stomach, Saviren quickly seized her assailant's wrist with both hands, holding fast. With a side step she brought herself to stand behind the baffled pirate, bending the captured arm awkwardly in the process.

Her thoughts were flying and without a second thought or a moment's pause, Saviren drove her knee into the back of Malvulis's leg in a fast, though clumsy, motion that sent the Dunmer woman sprawling across the stone thoroughfare. Saviren's footing was lost during the counter attack and she too fell forwards, until her knees clashed painfully against the ground. With palms pressed flat to the cool stone, she steadied herself and took a moment to rest after seeing that Malvulis did not appear to have plans to get up anytime soon either. The two Dunmer women glared at one another, crimson eyes flaring with loathing and revulsion.

Finally, after recapturing her breath, Saviren chuckled sardonically. "Where's your _damn fine _crew, eh Malvulis?" She paused to spit distastefully towards the marauder, blood dribbling from her lip to stain the stone bricks below. "Here you are sprawled on the damn walkway some twenty feet from your precious ship and none of them have come to aid you. They're all too busy getting plastered to help your sorry ass… " She cut herself off when she heard the jangle of heavy armor. Glancing up, she noticed a city guardsman sprinting towards them – not the kind of attention she needed or desired. With a silent curse, Saviren gathered the dark fabric of Antoinetta's cloak around her to conceal the shrouded armor that had been exposed during her scuffle with Malvulis.

"By the Nines! What is the meaning of this?" The guard demanded with a voice of such reprimand that Saviren flinched as if she were a child being scolded. When both women remained silent his voice boomed even louder. "On your feet. Both of you!" The Dark Elves slowly clambered to their feet and turned to face the guard.

His blue eyes were like ice, comparable in both color and frigidness. Gelid gaze darted from one woman to the other from beneath the rim of his helmet before finally resting on Malvulis. "You. Corsair. I've seen you in the Imperial Prison before... I suggest that you crawl back onto your _barge_ lest you care to serve another sentence in our custody."

For a moment, it looked as if the pirate was prepared to argue, however; she bit down softly on her tongue and simply turned back to the _Marie Elena_ and shakily walked across the boarding plank. Saviren watched, hoping that she would misstep and be sent tumbling into the harbor below. No such luck.

Turning back to the guard, Saviren fixed a calculating gaze on him. He met her eyes with a soft smirk, which caused his eyes to crinkle in the corners. He no longer looked at her begrudgingly but instead with casual interest. Saviren raised a brow suspiciously as his eyes glanced over her from head-to-toe and she fought hard to refrain from sneering.

The man was much older than her; that much was obvious even with a helmet covering the majority of his face. Despite his age, the man had a stocky build that was only enhanced by the bulk of his armor. His armor was quite elegant with many different designs incised into it.

Finally, after a moment of studying one another, the man spoke; his voice much softer than it had been earlier. "Let me guess: you looked at her ship the 'wrong way'."

Saviren started at the guards resounding laughter and sheepishly nodded. "Yeah, something like that."

The man was smiling genuinely now, but Saviren could not shake the feeling of antipathy she had quickly developed for him and all other guards in general. She forced a grin onto her lips and half-heartedly chuckled.

"You aren't from around here, are you? I don't recall ever seeing you around before. I am Adamus Phillida, commander of the Imperial Legion. I know just about every face in this great city." The commander did not even give her chance to reply, not that she was longing to give her identity so freely to this Legion dog anyhow. "Have you found a place to stay for the night? We have many fine inns all around the city."

"I am staying at the Bloated Float Inn for tonight."

Phillida scowled abruptly, lips pursing in dissatisfaction. "That is no a place for a young girl such as yourself."

_You don't know a thing about a _"_young girl such as myself_", _s'wit._

"There are many different forms of scum that hang around there. Thieves, addicts, drunkards…"

_Don't forget assassins._

"Well, I will have to be sure to be careful then, won't I?" The question was posed with a faux sweetness that Phillida seemed to interpret as genuine courtesy. It earned her another overly friendly smile from the legionary, one that made her skin crawl.

"Perhaps I should escort you back?"

_Chivalry still exists…_ Saviren nearly snickered at her own sarcasm but was able to swallow the urge to laugh and simply complied with the man's wishes – no use getting on a guardsman's bad side. She walked beside him silently as he continued to ramble on about things she did not care in-the-least-bit about, but forced herself to smile at anyhow. She whispered silent thanks giving, to whatever deity was there to hear her, that the walk was not a long one. When they had arrived at the inn, Saviren allowed Adamus to take her hand, suppressing a shiver as he pressed his lips softly against her knuckles. With a final farewell, the Dunmer slipped past the old wooden door of the inn and walked hurriedly to the cabin that she had rented, wanting nothing more than to go to bed and put the entire night behind her.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the wait, guys! Hope you like this chapter. **

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Saviren had woken with an ache in the lower right side of her face, hot pain radiating from where Malvulis had struck her last night, all the way up to the base of her cheekbone. Giving an experimental prod, Saviren winced as her fingers traced the bruising flesh. She muttered inaudibly curses about pirates, Malvulis in particular, and climbed out of bed and began to dress. It was surprisingly early for Saviren to be up, but then again, the majority of her night had been wasted away through tossing and turning as her mind buzzed with both anticipation and dread of the contract to be dealt with.

It had been sometime past dawn when Saviren realized that she might actually _die _today.

_The Brotherhood… what do they think of me? Do they expect me to return or am I just another pawn on their board? Expendable? _Saviren stood in the middle of her room, half dressed, staring daftly at the dirty floor below. _Have they sent me to die? _She shook her head in a vain attempt to dismiss the thought while continuing to pull the rest of her armor on.

Her hair was pulled into the typical ponytail, her fingers snagging in the tangles as she tied it back. Gods how she would kill for a bath but something made her doubt that she would find such a luxury in this declassed little inn.

She packed her old clothes into her travel bag and from it retrieved the few lock picks that M'raaj had been willing to sell her. The bastard charged her five septims apiece. She placed them in the breast pocket of her armor before wrapping Antoinetta's cloak around her form and stepping out of her room.

In the lobby, the innkeeper greeted her with a soft voice and Saviren could only assume that he was accustomed to dealing with patrons who woke up hung over from a night squandered away with tankard in-hand. Wordlessly, the she-elf handed over her room key and made to exit the inn with nothing more than a wave offered as a farewell to the Altmer behind the counter.

It was still dim outside while the sun struggled to breach the horizon as it lazily clawed its way into the morning sky, leaving plenty of shadows to hide in yet. She kept close to the walls of the buildings lining the harbor walkway, going unnoticed by the few people who could actually be found out this early.

Nearing the _Marie Elena_, Saviren noticed that there wasn't a soul to be found on deck. Slowly, the Dunmer crept towards the ship, getting her first analytical look at the craft. She tried her best to get a feel for the layout, but her lack of knowledge of ships hindered any inference she may have deduced. For Saviren, locating the Captain, Gaston Tussaud, would be a shot in the dark.

The first step onboard was the hardest to take. She would be trespassing, and though she had trespassed before, she had never so blatantly defied the boundaries of someone or something that was inevitably more powerful than her - a_n entire pirate crew. _The first step signaled her acceptance of the crime she was committing, as well as the consequences of being found and the acknowledgement that the consequence would likely be a sentence to death. After the first step was taken, her feet moved swiftly in cautious haste, darting towards a large wooden door nestled between two sets of stairs leading to the ship's wheel.

Pressing her ear to the rough surface, Saviren tried to listen above the sound of her own heartbeat. Met by silence, she reluctantly set to work on the padlock that hung from the door rusting. It was cold and heavy in her hand and the cool metal surface sweetly caressed the heat away from her sweaty palm.

The lock was old but well built and her first pick snapped within an instant. Her heart lurched as a second gave way as well, bending under the sturdy tumblers. Saviren's hands were trembling as she produced a third pick from her breast pocket. Working the slender pick into the keyhole, she tried to pace herself and steady the jitters that now plagued her.

_Focus._

Inhaling slowly, she calmed the rising panic and fear with Vicente's words repeating in her mind. Eventually, each tumbler yielded to her gentle poking and prodding. She exhaled sharply, not even realizing that she had been holding her breath.

Slowly she inched the door open until it was cracked just wide enough for her to worm her way into the room beyond and shut it softly behind her. Her first step into the room produced a loud creak from the old wooden planks underfoot. A silent curse, followed by a silent prayer that no one had heard, was whispered. As she proceeded into the dimly lit cabin, Saviren remembered the way Vicente had scolded her on her fist day of training, ridiculing her clumsy steps. _You will never sneak up on someone walking like that. Heel to toe, not flatfooted. _

Mimicking the stride that her mentor had demonstrated, Saviren tread silently across the flooring. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the weak lighting, the sun's rays struggling to surpass the tint of stained glass windows at the far wall of the room. She heard before she saw; air stirring softly with the sound of shallow breath. As her eyes became accustom to the gloom around her, the she-elf was able to piece together the form of a sleeping man sprawled across a large bed, tucked away in the near corner. She realized that she was in the captain's cabin and this was precisely the man whom she sought for, Gaston Tussaud, the pirate captain of the _Marie Elena._

The simplicity of locating him was a relief to her and Saviren anticipated an easy contract – now just to plunge the blade into the man and it would soon be over…

As she approached the man, she saw that he was lying on his stomach which pleased her, seeing that it would make it difficult for the man to struggle if given the opportunity. Coming to crouch at the bedside, the Dunmer carefully drew her dagger. There was a slight reverberation as the Blade of Woe's steel scraped against the sheath and the ring echoed through the silent room.

She watched the captain stir, lifting his head from a drool-stained pillow as the sound disturbed his sleep. _Shit._

Tussaud started when he noticed Saviren standing beside him and he growled drowsily, words slurring from a combination of drunkenness and torpidity. "What the fuck do ya want, crewman? I ne'er asked you to my quart-." The captain fell deathly silent as the assassin's blade silenced his words, piercing the base of his skull with surprising accuracy despite the haste in which the blow was delivered.

Returning her dagger to hang beside her hip, Saviren turned toward the door and made to leave, happy to put this contract behind her. As her hand grasped the door's handle there was a sudden knocking from the other side. "Captain? May I come in, sir?" Saviren froze, too afraid to budge. She knew this voice and it made her cringe. Malvulis. "Captain Tussaud? Sir, are you alright?" There was a slight pause as the first mate awaited a response. "Captain… I'm coming in."

Saviren jumped back as the door swung wide open. The two Dunmer women met each other's stare, Malvulis gasping in appall as she recognized Saviren. "What are you doing here? Did I not make myself clear last night when I told you to stay away from this ship, lass?" Malvulis stepped into the room and quickly shut the door after herself. Her eyes dared a quick glance toward where the captain was laying, butchered in his own bed. Curiously, the first mate returned her gaze to Saviren who narrowed her eyes as the older woman gave a sardonic laugh. "Oh bloody hell. _You?_ You're who the damn Dark Brotherhood sends to off the old man?" She shook her head disappointedly. "I guess I can't say they don't possess a sense of humor. Damn. At least you got the job done though, eh?" Malvulis looked at the young Dunmer with an expression of cold amusement. "Ah well, I guess our business is concluded then, yes?" The first mate's hand fell upon the hilt of her cutlass and swiftly jerked it from its scabbard.

Saviren started, eyes wide as Malvulis stepped towards her. Turning on her heels, she dashed to the opposite side of the room, clambering up a small flight of stairs and rushed towards a door, which she hadn't noticed earlier. Quickly she tugged it open, not caring where it where it would lead her.

Leather boots screeched as Saviren abruptly skidded to a halt, nearly toppling over rickety railing, which encircled the balcony that she had stepped out onto. Clutching the rail for stability, Saviren glanced down to the water below. Only after she heard Malvulis's steps behind her did the young girl come to regret her moment of hesitation.

Malvulis's free hand seized the girl's long hair harshly. "How pathetic that you won't even defend yourself. Is that how you assassin's operate? I guess that's why your kind is always lurking about in the shadows; you're too cowardly to actually face your enemy."

Saviren grimaced as the woman's nails dug into her scalp. "You know, its funny because you pirates are not as glorious as you allow yourselves to believe, either. I may hide in shadows but at least I'm not so arrogant and smug that I allow my enemy to gain the upper hand in a fight and not even realize it…"

Malvulis gasped hoarsely as a sudden sharp pain tore through her abdomen, each faltering breathe alighting a fiery pang in her gut. She hadn't even noticed as Saviren pulled her blade from its sheath, concealed beneath her cloak. Hopefully Antoinetta would forgive the new hole and bloodstain in her pretty garment.

As Malvulis's fingers unclenched, releasing her ponytail, Saviren twirled and lashed out at the first mate, crudely hacking into the nape of her foe's neck. Once the woman lay dead on the balcony's deck, Saviren leapt over the low guardrail and dove into the harbor.

Beneath the cover of the waves, she was able to remain undetected by the few people who walked the docks overhead. Only after reaching the sandy shoreline on the opposite side of the small inlet did she poke her head above the water's surface, sucking in a deep breath of air.

She returned to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary smelling of seawater, hair still dripping wet and matted. Her main thoughts were set on drawing a hot bath and allowing herself to soak, but she knew that Vicente would be waiting for her to report back to him.

As she approached the door to Vicente's room, Saviren noticed that it was partially open. She could hear hushed voices but was unable to discern the words that were whispered or to whom the voices belonged. She briefly contemplated returning later, after taking the bath she so desperately longed for.

"You may come in, Saviren." The Dunmer's brow rose curiously as Vicente summoned her. Stepping sheepishly into the dim, candle lit room. She was surprised to find Speaker Lachance standing beside Vicente. Both men gazed at her expectantly, neither speaking as she stepped forwards.

"I did not mean to interrupt…"

She was silenced by the wave of Vicente's hand. "No need for an apology. Tell me, how did the contract go?" The vampire's gaze swept over the young Dunmer and she noticed a faint smirk cross his lips.

"Well…" She fidgeted under the gazes of her mentor and Speaker. "I am still alive, so I guess it went alright."

"And what of your target?"

"Captain Tussaud is dead."

"Good. It would appear that he gave you a bit of trouble though." Vicente sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Are you alright?"

She gently touched the bruise on her cheek, suddenly self-conscious of how rough she must look. "It was actually his first mate that was the problem. She has a nasty punch but I honestly think it hurt worse when she got hold of my hair." With a nervous chuckle, she rubbed her scalp, which still tingled from the abuse it had suffered.

Lucien stepped towards her. "You wear your hair far too long." His hand swatted at the disorderly locks that hung from a messy ponytail with a sneer. "Far too easy to grab."

Saviren flinched as he gave her hair a symptomatic tug. "I suppose so… I have always kept it long though. I guess I have just grown accustom to it being that way."

From behind, she heard the soft hiss of a sword being drawn as Lucien suddenly pulled her hair taunt. She gasped when she felt the drag of a blade slice through her tangled ponytail. Her hands flew to her head, fingers investigating the way her hair now dangled, abruptly ending at shoulder length. She turned and faced the Speaker, hands still running through her hair uncertainly.

Lucien promptly sheathed his sword as the Dunmer gaped in shock, wide crimson eyes staring up at him. "There, much better."

Saviren stuttered daftly, trying to formulate a response. She knew she could not scream at him, she would not dare to address a Speaker is such a manner. Especially Lucien, no matter how furious said Speaker had made her. "You… you cut…" Turning to face Vicente, Saviren spoke in a hushed voice. "May I be excused, Vicente?"

The vampire retrieved a small coin purse and brass ring, placing the items on his desk before her. "You may. Take these though; your reward for a job well done." He offered her a sympathetic smile as she palmed the items with a halfhearted "thank you" before dismissing her. "Come back and speak with me whenever you are ready for more training."

"I will." As she left, stepping past an apathetic looking Lucien, she heard Vicente grumbling. "Was that truly necessary, Lucien?" There was no response other than a soft, exasperated scoff as heavy iron doors clanged shut behind her.

She couldn't keep from toying with her hair while she lay in the washtub. Her head felt so light now that the majority of her hair had been sliced away. The way her hair fell evenly at her shoulders was quite remarkable however; it was a rather clean crop.

It was almost laughable that the two-second haircut she had received from Lucien was arguably of better quality than any cut she had received from a professional barber.

She wanted to be angry with Lachance but she found that the new style did not look horrible, as she had expected. Besides, she was too exhausted to care any longer. Climbing tentatively from the tub on sore feet, Saviren wrapped herself in a towel and went to dress for bed. She didn't even care that it was still only midday.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello my lovely readers!**

**I'm so so SO sorry that this update took forever. I have good reasons, I swear D:**

**I hope that you will forgive me and I also hope to avoid taking so long in posting the next chapter :)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Saviren woke to the sensation of fingers running through her hair. Striking the back of the hand that continued to toy with her hair, she then rolled in order to evade any further harassment.

"Ow! Gosh, you could have just asked me to stop…"

Saviren's eyes opened to glare at the young blonde sitting at the edge of her bed, holding her abused hand as if it had been smashed to bits. "Why are you playing with my hair, Antoinetta?" The Dark Elf sat up and rubbed the haze of sleep from her crimson eyes, grumbling as her hair fell in short, slightly wavy locks that framed her face. It was so unnatural.

"Because it's so different! I mean it looks nice… Why did you cut it?" Antoinetta reached for the Dunmer's dark hair again, earning the Breton another smack. The young blonde's lip pulled into an exaggerated pouting face as she was struck for a second time but she did not make any comment, simply waited for her friend to answer her question.

"You can thank our dear Speaker for the new hairdo." Saviren began to finger comb the waviness from her sleep-curled hair with a sigh.

Antoinetta gave an abrupt, high-pitched giggle before slapping a hand over her lips to muffle the sound. "Lucien cut your hair? Why?"

"Apparently there is a new safety protocol…" Saviren was trying not to be so bitter, trying to think positively, but she did miss her long hair. The sarcasm in her tone just came naturally. This whole new style would take time to get used to, she supposed.

Antoinetta raised a brow at the Dunmer's tone, but did not press the matter. "Well it looks nice." Her smile made Saviren feel a bit better - not so crotchety.

With a smile of gratitude, Saviren rose to her feet only to nearly trip over Schemer who had taken to sleeping beside her bed, seeing that he had been promptly banished from getting _on_ the bed since the first time the two had met. Saviren would not permit him to cuddle with her as she slept; yet he still insisted on remaining close to the newest Family member. The rat dodged her feet, narrowly avoiding a painful stomp to the tail. "Gods, Schemer! You need to really start thinking about finding somewhere else to sleep. Somewhere _away_ from me, preferably."

Her ranting was silenced as the rat stared at her with dark, beady eyes that seemed to express a sincere sadness and self-pity. She swore that he was pouting. "Oh don't look at me like that…" Saviren scoffed and fell to her knees, crouching down to offer the rodent an apology. She could only imagine how ridiculous she appeared. "Damn it, I'm sorry alright, Schem?" The Dunmer reached behind Schemer's ears and scratched, chuckling softly as he shimmied closer to her touch.

Antoinetta began to grin, pearly teeth expressing a subtle sense of triumph. "I knew it wouldn't take long until he grew on you. Everyone loves Schemer. Even Lucien, he just won't admit it." The blonde giggled knowingly.

Saviren snorted softly. Part of her doubted that their Speaker was even capable of having affectionate feelings for anything, and she wouldn't say that Schemer had exactly grown on her. Well… maybe a little. Saviren decided to change the topic. "What time is it? Where is everyone?" The room was void of any of the Family except for Antoinetta, Schemer, and herself.

Antoinetta shrugged her shoulders slightly. "Some time past midnight, I think. Vicente has gone for his nightly walk, there are a few of us just hanging around the Sanctuary, and Tel and Gogron went… _out_."

"Out?" Saviren raised a brow at the way Antoinetta expressed the word.

The young Breton nodded, tight-lipped for once. "Mhm."

Realization suddenly surfaced and Saviren stood slowly. "Oh…"

Without another word on the matter, the two woman decidedly headed upstairs with Schemer shuffling after the pair.

Teinaava was sitting in a corner chair in the main hall; book in hand, when they arrived on the upper level of the Sanctuary. Saviren smiled at him as he glanced up from the yellowing pages to greet his two Sisters. "Ah, Saviren, I've been meaning to talk to you." The Argonian paused when he noticed the shortness of her hair. Saviren cringed – she hated how much attention a damn haircut was earning her. Teinaava nodded in what seemed like approval of the new look and the Dark Elf relax slightly. "I heard about your contract today. How was it killing your first official target?" His sharp teeth flashed in a grin characteristically Argonian, tongue flickering pleasantly.

"Well… It could have gone better…" Saviren's hand instinctively reached for her hair and began to twirl a short strand around her forefinger. It was something of a habit for the girl to play with her hair whenever she felt nervous or embarrassed. She opened her mouth to go into further detail but silenced herself when she heard the training room doors swing open as M'raaj-Dar pushed his way through.

_If he says __**anything**__ about my hair…_

Her eyes met M'raaj's as he walked past their little group and she struggled to match the ferocity of the cat's glare. No words were spoken, the tension between them expressed only through the non-verbal language of the body. Saviren was actually quite pleased – she was beginning to learn to hold her tongue whenever Whiskers showed up, which was a show of great self-control on her part. She had a rather wicked tongue that tended to get her in trouble.

Speaking of which reminded her of Malvulis and, as soon as M'raaj had disappeared into the sleeping quarters, she continued her recount on the events of her contract.

"You got into a fist fight?" Antoinetta shrieked with a mix of laughter and disbelief while Teinaava's eyes widened.

The Argonian waited for Antoinetta's laughter to quiet down. "I do hope your reward was worth the trouble?"

Saviren had forgotten about the reward, not even so much as taking a glance at it since she left Vicente's office. Shoving her hand into her pocket, she retrieved the small coin purse and the little brass ring. The coin purse held a meager offering of only fifty gold but Saviren was not very surprised. She had never expected to earn much as a newbie. The ring however was something of interest. She could already feel the soft trickle of magicka that it exuded. Both Teinaava and Antoinetta also regarded the scrap of jewelry with increasing fascination.

"That looks like Vicente's Black Band…" Teinaava was visibly shocked and he examined the ring displayed within the Dunmer's palm. "Ah, may I?" Gingerly the Argonian took the ring from her and turned it over in his hands. "He has had this for years…"

"Yeah! That ring is old. Like…Vicente old." Antoinetta was still as chipper as ever, yet she seemed slightly perturbed. "I wonder why he has decided to give it up." The blonde glanced over to the Dark Elf girl, one brow transcending the other. Was that a look of jealousy that had crossed the blonde's features?

Teinaava handed the ring back to Saviren, who was looking as confused as the two of them. "I'm not sure. Try it on, Little Sister."

The ring was too wide to bear it on her ring finger, so she slipped it over her thumb and grinned as magic surged, setting the diamond pattern aglow with a florid radiance, which soon faded as the enchantment dimmed to an unnoticeable murmur. She quite liked this whole magicka thing that the Dark Brotherhood seemed to be enamored with. So many spells and new things to be learned here – how exciting. "It's amazing. I shall have to thank Vicente properly when I next see him…" She felt a pang of guilt, having received such a lovely gift and not having taken the time to express any form of gratitude. _I blame Lucien. _She was being childish, she knew, but it didn't matter. What's done was done.

Teinaava nodded, still gazing at the ring that now resided on her thumb. "Well, congratulations on your first contract, Saviren." His lizard's smile was pleasant and sincere and it forced a responding grin onto the Dunmer's lips in spite of her soured mood. She liked Teinaava. He really was like a big brother to her.

Saviren hefted a heavy sigh; the great exhale heaving her shoulders. She was still exhausted with only having a few hours of sleep between performing her contract and the present time. She considered retreating from the waking world and returning to her bed but there was a soft clang that caught her attention and she turned to see Vicente stepping down the ladder which lead to… well she wasn't exactly sure. She had never been up the ladder, nor had she bothered asking what it was for. It wasn't her business is all she could conclude. Saviren went to meet Vicente across the atrium as he stepped down from the last rung.

Turning, the vampire faced her with a smile already curving thin lips. He looked _different_ – less pale and a bit more youthful. "Ah, you are getting much better at your footsteps, Saviren. You still tend to go a bit flatfooted though."

Raising an eyebrow, Saviren glanced down at her feet as if they would provide her with an answer of some sort. She hadn't even been trying to walk quietly; it was just coming naturally, which was very, very good. Lifting her eyes back to Vicente, she smiled politely and muttered a soft "thank you" to him.

He met her gaze silently, expecting that she had something to say. It was Vicente's expectant look that helped her to find her voice as she shoved aside any remaining pride that she may have felt due to the compliment. "Uh, I never took the time to thank you for the reward that you gave me." Her right hand fell to its opposite and she began to turn the ring around her thumb, toying with it out of mild discomposure. "I guess I was just kind of distracted… not that that excuses my lack of manners of course." The Dunmer glanced up at her mentor and gave a nervous smile when the vampire gave a knowing chuckle.

"You had your reasons. Your hair does look quite lovely, by the way." His eyes glanced over the shortened locks, tucked behind pointed ears. "Either way, there is no need to thank me, child. You earned the reward after all."

Saviren accepted the praise with a bashful bow of her head. "Thank you, Vicente." She gave her thanks humbly, just merely managing to refrain from calling Vicente "sir", as he had encouraged her to avoid doing early on in her first days with the Brotherhood. _"No need for that. We are Family now, are we not?"_ Her vigilance was rewarded with a small smile of approval.

As Vicente turned to leave, excusing himself from the room, Saviren made to follow him. Leaving Antoinetta and Teinaava in the common room, they proceeded down the curving hall. When they reached his office, the vampire offered her a seat at the chair behind his desk, an offer that she politely declined. Taking the seat for himself, Vicente placed his elbows on the desktop, hands clasping together as he fixed her with a calculating stare. "What is it that troubles you, Sister?"

She glanced down at her hands, her thumb in particular. "Teinaava and Antoinetta made it sound like this ring was important to you… special."

"Special?" His eyes fell to the brass strip encircling her left thumb, a small grin tugging at the corners of gaunt lips. A nervous chuckle betrayed potential diffidence. However, after a moment, his decidedness returned and his voice sounded certain of the words next spoken. "Consider the Black Band a token of my confidence in you; an investment if-you-will."

_An investment? _She wasn't sure that she understood. _A symbol of his faith in me, I guess. _She nodded as if she understood; regardless that she was not privy to any of Vicente's thoughts at the moment. What she really did not understand though, was what made her special. She wasn't. She was just the new girl and she still barely understood all that the Dark Brotherhood was yet. She was not particularly skilled in taking lives and she had not mastered any weaponry yet.

Vicente seemed eager to allow the conversation to end and changed the topic altogether. "Ready for another training session?"

She blinked sheepishly at him. "Now? I'm kind of-" She bit down on her tongue, cutting off unspoken words.

"Tired?" He could tell by the way her shoulders sagged. "Good, it's best to train when opposed with some form of weakness even if it is something as mild as exhaustion. It will teach you to always be in your prime, no matter what the situation."

And so she trained. She trained for months under Vicente's guidance. Saviren became stronger, faster, and smarter. She worked with ever type of weapon and was introduced to several novice-level spells.

Magic proved more difficult to grasp, both mentally and physically. She never realized how much thought went into spell casting and wielding. Each person had magicka in them; the key was to extract its essence and mold it, form it into something physical and useful. And to control magicka was even more of a challenge. In a sense, magicka was something that could not be controlled, not entirely.

"Magicka can be governed and guided, but never mastered." Vicente would always remind her of this whenever a spell would fail in her hands or when the magicka would erupt from her palm before she had meant to release it, leaving her inevitably frustrated. "Even the greatest mages will struggle to retain its power. Magic is something simply preeminent to us all."

Saviren had never seen Vicente falter when casting spells though. M'raaj-Dar never did either; something that he would constantly hold over the young Dunmer's head, always adding to her mounting impatience to learn just so she could shut him up.

She remembered the day during a training session that, in Saviren's eyes, went horribly wrong, Vicente had repeated the infamous saying that she had heard twenty other times, she finally snapped and pointed out bitterly that Vicente had seemingly mastered the art of magic.

She remembered the way her mentor had laughed. "I have not mastered magic, I have not even come close in fact. I simply know my limits. You are so zealous in your battle to control the uncontrollable that you rush into things you are not yet ready for and in doing so, you make it harder on yourself to learn."

Know your limits. Limitations were something that Saviren struggled with.


	9. Chapter 9

**So this chapter took me a really long time to write and organize and...**

**Would it help if I apologized again?**

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The cold stone walls echoed with the clattery footsteps of a guardsman, heavy steel boots announcing his arrival before he even turned the corner. As torchlight infiltrated the safe haven of shadows, Saviren mouthed the words for a chameleon spell, her figure screened, just obscure enough for the guard to walk by unaware of her crouching form, huddled in the corner.

Only when the footsteps faded down the adjacent corridor that the man had disappeared down, did Saviren dare to move. Chameleon spells were handy in the right situations, but she absolutely abhorred them. They were unreliable. There was always the chance of being spotted, because Chameleon did not allow you to disappear entirely. It only masked your presence but anyone with a sharp eye, or enough sense to take a proper look at his or her surroundings, could easily spot you.

She decided to keep the Chameleon spell on herself, though. Just in case.

As she traveled down the first hallway that the guard had originally come from, her mind whirled with thoughts, reminding herself of what to do and how to do it; how to walk quietly, how to crouch lower, how to cling to the shadows better. She hoped that one day, all of these things would come naturally to her. The Dark Elf often found herself concerned with the future nowadays, wondering and hoping. She had been with the Brotherhood for over two months now and she felt like she could still be doing _more _to better herself and earn her place among the assassins.

Voices from the chamber ahead demanded her attention, tearing her thoughts from idle contemplation. Peering around the corner, Saviren saw another guardsman with his armored back turned to her, facing another man, a Dunmer, confined in a small prison cell. She hadn't thought she would reach the prison so soon.

The Dunmer man looked furious, his hands gripping the bars of his cage so fiercely that the blue skin of his knuckles was flushed white. His entire body was visibly shaking, so much so that even Saviren noticed from where she observed at a fair distance away. "Eleven! Eleven years I have been in this rat infested hole!" Rat infested indeed; Saviren must have killed more than a two-dozen of the vermin during her ventures through the sewer system just to get to this dreary prison. Moss was freely growing between the bricks of the walls and the air was dank and smelly here. It was surprising, but she actually felt pity for any who were made to suffer within these cold and unforgiving walls, especially when faced with the cognizance that she could easily be one of them. Crime was no longer a stranger to her.

And it was with that thought that she was able to remind herself why she was here creeping around in the shadows of Cyrodiil's finest prison, and it was to commit a crime of her own. The irony was almost laughable.

The prisoner continued to ramble, voice rising until he was screaming at the guard who had clearly angered the Dunmer. "But I'm getting out, and you'll still be stuck in here!" His laugh was one of a madman and the noise echoed around the prison walls.

The guard was laughing and shaking his head. "You could never survive out there; you're an animal! You belong in that cage."

"I'll remember that when I am lying on the beaches of Summerset Isle with your wife, you Imperial pig!"

The guard was no longer laughing, but Saviren was close to.

But then there was a sudden screeching of rusted hinges and a clanging of iron as the guardsman hastily unlocked the cell and flung the door ajar, sending it crashing into the wall. As he spoke, Saviren could clearly hear the tones of cruelty in his voice as he approached the prisoner, who had retreated back against the wall upon the violent entry of the guardsman into his cell. "I have to admit, I am going to miss you Dreth. The late night beatings, your pitiful cries for help…" With the back of his gauntleted hand, the guard struck the Dunmer, sending him sprawling across the filthy straw that lined the cell's floor; a meager offering as far as bedding goes for the neglected inmates.

Even as he fell before his jailor, feebly crumbling to the floor, the Dark Elf still refused to shudder in the face of his abuser. Spitting a gobbet of blood and wiping the remaining dribble of crimson from his lip, he returned to his exclamations and insults, defiance reverberating throughout his voice. "Filthy curr! My time's almost up, and there's nothing you can do about it! No amount of beatings will change that!"

The guard delivered another blow, this time kicking the inmate squarely in the rib cage, drawing from him a raspy breath that effectively silenced his cries of outrage. "You know what I think, Dreth? I think you'll be back. Your lot always comes back." He had lifted the Dunmer by his tattered shirt, pulling him to his feet only to strike him down with another punch.

Saviren felt another pang of pity for the man. She knew she shouldn't, but it was unavoidable when faced with such a savage scene unfolding before her eyes. _Fucking Legionnaires. Filthy swine. Every last one of them. _

Even through the torment, Dreth still managed to speak, words struggling through gritted teeth and screams of agony. "You'll see, Imperial dog… One day all of Tamriel will know my name…"

Valen Dreth, Valen Dreth.

Even long after the guard had lost interest in the beating and left the Dunmer man to lie broken and bleeding in his cell, he still repeated the words softly to himself.

Valen Dreth: the criminal.

Valen Dreth: the outcast.

Valen Dreth: the madman.

Valen Dreth: the contract.

Patiently, Saviren had waited. And now it was time to act. Briefly, the she-elf considered using her bow, which she now carried fondly, slung across her shoulders everywhere she went, while still crouched behind the crumbling bricks of the hole in the wall of the pseudo cell, which actually served as an emergency exit (or entrance, in her case) through the sewer system of the Imperial City. It was across the hall from Valen's cell, but the shot was too risky to take. She had worked far too hard to convince Vicente to even allow her to go on this contract to simply fuck it up because she over estimated her abilities. She did love her bow though. Another day, perhaps…

Rising from her hiding place, knees protesting at the sudden shift in position, she crept from the concealing walls of the fake prison cell and into the empty corridor. The Chameleon spell had long since faded, for she did not yet possess the skill to keep a spell generated for a vast amount of time yet, but she no longer needed to rely on the veil of a Chameleon spell now that she was certain that no one was left in this wing of the prison, save Valen and herself. And Valen posed no threat to her now. He had been rendered far too weak from his beating to even call out to any of the guards lounging about the prison and alert anyone of her presence.

She strode past Valen's cell and made her way to the table where she had seen the guard carelessly throw his keys. All the while, she was aware of the prisoner's eyes following her every move, understandably baffled as she began to unlock his cell.

Patiently she eased the door open, avoiding the creak of hinges through careful wheedling. As she let herself into the cell, Valen weakly craned his neck in order to look up at his visitor. Saviren was surprised to see a smile creep onto the bruising lips of Dreth's swollen face.

"I must surely be dead, and in the halls of Azura to look upon such a vision. You are so beautiful, my dear Dunmer maiden..." His curious gaze turned into a leering stare as she crouched down in front of his battered body and he took a moment to appreciate the sight before him.

"Flattery will only get you so far."

Dreth looked perplexed, unsure of the meaning of her words or the intentions that were hidden behind the she-elf's placid grin.

She pushed a lock of his graying hair from a withering and bloodied face. How pitiful he looked. "I'm afraid the best your sweet talk will earn you is a quick death." She saw the flash of fear in his crimson eyes as she produced her dagger, but the expression quickly subsided to a vacant countenance as the haze of death clouded over his stare and masked the dread that had been momentarily written on his features, once the Blade of Woe had embedded into the man's chest.

Saviren lifted her hand, delicate fingers flitting over Dreth's eyes, pulling the lids shut softly. Quickly she departed, surprised when the tears began to roll down her cheeks.

†††

The sun had sunk halfway to the horizon by the time Saviren crawled back out of the sewers through the tunnel on the shore of Lake Rumare. The water was shimmering with the brightly colored shades of the sun as it dipped closer to the water's edge. With a few hours of traveling ahead of her, she contemplated stealing a horse from the Chestnut Handy Stable. In the end, she decided it would be more trouble than it was worth and set a brisk, jogging pace for her return trip to Cheydinhal.

†††

The smell of garlic hung thickly in the air when Saviren arrived back home at the Sanctuary. _Antoinetta must be cooking again…_The pungent odor had been the first thing to greet her as she stepped through the Black Door. As she headed towards the Sanctuary's dining hall, she could hear the clatter of tableware and the chiming sound of spoons. The Family was just settling down to the table of food as she pushed past the iron doors, letting herself in to investigate the garlic smell.

As she came through the doors, Vicente was barraging out, very nearly crashing into the surprised Dunmer. "Damn it all to Oblivion. Can we just have one meal, _one meal_, that does not contain garlic?" Saviren scrambled out of Vicente's way when she saw how his fangs were noticeably extended, peeking past his upper lip – a forewarning of a very unhappy vampire. He was practically hissing as he spoke, sibilantly spouting off curses. His crimson eyes were ablaze with a vexation that she had never seen before.

Vicente glanced over, eyes sweeping Saviren with a look that resembled how her father used to glower at her whenever the man had been cross. "You're finally back." Her mentor gave an exasperated sigh as Saviren stood mutely, feeling reduced to a young girl under the vampire's fiery glare. "Report to me in my office when you can. Hopefully this stench has not yet desecrated that side of the Sanctuary."

As her mentor stormed out of the room, Saviren bowed her head in agreement to hastily conducted terms and mumbled a farewell. When the iron doors clanged shut, she turned to face the rest of the Family, sitting at the table, many grinning or struggling to suppress a snicker of amusement at the scene that had unfolded. Antoinetta was the only one who did not appear to find humor in the scenario. The poor girl looked mortified and her perfectly pink lips only managed to eek out a half smile when she met Saviren's eyes.

The young Breton shuffled over to her Dunmer friend, practically throwing herself into Saviren's arms. "Oh, it's good to have you back. You took a while out on contract and some of us were starting to worry." There was a murmur of agreement from some of her other Dark Siblings, followed by an awkward silence as Saviren hugged her miserable friend. Finally, Antoinetta spoke again. "Vicente doesn't like my cooking…"

"Well perhaps if the food you make wasn't potentially lethal to him…" Saviren trailed off, patting Antoinetta's back in half-hearted sympathy. Vicente had told her time and time again about the garlic. _You'd think she'd learn._ She looked over Antoinetta's shoulder and observed her Family as they began to chew on garlic bread and slurp the soup that Antoinetta had made. Saviren was surprised to see Lucien sitting at the table. He had been coming around more often these days, but only for short visits usually to talk with Vicente or Ocheeva. "I think you are a great cook, Antoinetta." A discomfort passed through her gut as she was reminded just how hungry she was but Antoinetta was still clinging to her and did not show any signs of wanting to let go.

"Antoinetta, release the poor girl." It was Lucien who had come to her rescue and Saviren shot him a grateful look. Antoinetta complied with the Speaker's command and returned to the table, sitting down in the chair that Lucien rose to pull back for her, patting the young girl's shoulder as she began to swirl her spoon through the blend of her soup. Circling the table, Lucien offered a chair to Saviren as well. Indebted, she smiled at her Speaker and took the seat, grinning at Teinaava who sat at her immediate left. Quickly grabbing a roll of bread from the table, she began to bite into it, still warm and fresh.

As Lucien returned to his seat at the head of the table, the Family began to buzz with questions about her contract, which she did the best to explain while quickly shoving the rest of her garlic bread into her mouth. "Valen Dreth is dead" were the only words she was able to get out through the mouthful.

"Well of course he's dead!" Antoinetta suddenly chirped, suddenly more enthusiastic than moments ago. "They did send you after all."

"I should hope he is dead. There wouldn't be much reason for you to have come back if he weren't. The real question is: were you seen at all?" Saviren turned towards the head of the table to face her Speaker. Lucien was a straight-facts kind of person and especially hated when someone would state the obvious.

"It's good to see you too, Lucien." Over time, She had taken to calling him by his name whenever he would visit, like the rest of the Family. She had figured out that it was only when Lucien wore his formal Black Hand robe was when she had to address him as Speaker.

Lucien clasped his hands together and smiled. The sweetness of the smile, she knew, was faux, but she couldn't keep from grinning back. He was in a good mood tonight; a rare occurrence, it seemed.

"I was not seen. I took the utmost care in making sure that the Legion dogs won't have a scent to trace back to the Brotherhood." Playing games with Lucien was always interesting, even if she was always the one to lose.

"Vicente's training must be paying off." It was Telaendril who spoke, smiling at her from across the table. Tel had been noticeably upset when Saviren had first received the Dreth contract, envious that a Murderer had received one of the most desirable contracts. Saviren returned the smile, lips curling coyly, happy to see that her friend wasn't still upset. "I hope so. We've been training for what feels like an eternity." She shook her head and began to ladle some of the soup into a bowl – it smelled of garlic as well, strongly so. Saviren didn't even care.

"An eternity, not quite; but long enough for you to be able to infiltrate the Imperial Prison. You've done well, Sister." The Altmer gave another smile, one that was perhaps lacking of sincerity this time, before rising from her seat and excusing herself from the table. Saviren watched her go with a grimace. Perhaps the Altmer _was _still upset.

Gogron quickly shoveled the rest of his soup into his mouth before he, too, rose from his chair, which squealed beneath the Orc's weight as its wooden feet scraped across the Sanctuary's stone floor. He followed Telaendril out of the kitchen, only stopping to rest a heavy hand on the small Dunmer's shoulder as she gazed into the medley of her soup dolefully. Saviren turned to meet his eyes, which were apologetic, on Telaendril's behalf, she supposed. She softly patted the back of Gorgron's hand, her dark blue skin a brash contrast to the pale green tinge of an Orc's.

It wasn't long until the rest of the Family had finished with dinner and began to clear the area, leaving Saviren to pick at the soup that she no longer had any appetite for. Wasn't this contract's success supposed to be something to be proud of? Instead she was feeling shitty because of Telaendril. Or perhaps she was just feeling sorry for herself. At least Teinaava, Ocheeva, and Antoinetta stopped to congratulate her – enough to bring a smile back to her lips. However, even they soon dissipated and left her sitting alone with only Lucien lingering behind the crowd. "Meet me in the training room once you've finished your dinner, Saviren."

Cringing, Saviren blinked aversely up at him, crimson eyes wide. _Training with Lucien? Oh, Gods, no._

His only response was a callous smirk. "Don't keep me waiting."

With a sigh, Saviren gathered her bowl and silverware, discarding her dishes and the untouched soup within. _Maybe he will go easy on me…_

How unlikely.

†††

Stepping out from the kitchen, Saviren entered an empty corridor, her own footsteps echoing about the stone passageway. Everyone else had already retired to the sleeping quarters, it seemed. Perhaps that was good though, seeing as it left no one to witness her hell bound training session with the Speaker.

Lucien was waiting for her, examining his silver short sword with mild interest, tracing a finger across the edge of the blade. Saviren sighed, producing the Blade of Woe as her only defense. How pitiful it looked compared to the regal blade belonging to Lachance.

"So, what exactly do you have in mind, Lucien?"

"I want to see how far you have come since our first meeting. I am to see how Vicente's teachings have altered your capabilities. So tell me, what have you been taught thus far?"

She began to recite everything that she and her mentor had trained and studied over during the time she had first come to Cheydinhal up until present time. Lucien nodded with approval as she listed each of her accomplishments that had been achieved through Vicente's training. "And how are your senses developing?"

The Dunmer watched as her Speaker leisurely sauntered in repetitive, looping circles around her as she stood rigidly in the center of the room before diverting her gaze to watch the shadows dance beneath candlelight's caress. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, how well can you put all that Vicente has taught you? It is one thing to say and another thing to do. Can you _feel _your way through a fight? Can you rely on instinct to compensate for what you may lack in a fight. An assassin's greatest asset is his ability to utilize all of his senses instead of relying on one alone." Lucien came to a stop in front of Saviren, smirking on the puzzled expression she wore. "Most people don't realize how dependent they are on something, until they no longer have it."

There was a sudden feeling of magic in the air and the candles died in simultaneous puffs of smoke. The room was flooded with darkness, quickly overwhelmed as the shadows ensued the dying light. _Sight. _Saviren could not see, and she was all but certain that she could not _feel_ her way through whatever it was that Lucien had planned. _You rely too greatly on sight._ Saviren understood the hidden meaning behind Lucien's questions tried to focus, recollecting on what Vicente had been lecturing about for the past months, but with so little time to think it proved more difficult to rely on a mentor's teachings. Lectures don't save you in situations like these.

She felt a whisper of a draft drift against her skin as the air was disturbed around her. There was a soft jab against her back, still adorn in her armor, as a sword reached out to her from the darkness. Hearing Lucien scoff caused her to cringe.

"I do hope that you don't plan to just stand there like this in a real fight." There was pressure added to the point of the sword, causing slight discomfort. "You'd already be dead. Vicente's lectures won't save you in situations like these unless you are willing to put the words into action."

"Never allow your opponent to anticipate your next move, or you will have already lost."

Put the words into action? All right.

Saviren spun, arm arching down with the Blade of Woe in hand, but only to clash upon nothing and instead swipe through the air fruitlessly.

"A fair try." The voice of Lachance came from behind her – _how was he already behind her?_ A hasty sidestep delivered her from the fictitious harm of Lucien's offense, however her balance suffered, and her footing faltered. A quick recovery was not granted, and Lucien made her suffer for the tiny mistake of a mere misstep. The flat of her Speaker's sword smacked against her right shoulder before the sword swung again and repositioned so that it's tip rested just nether her collar bone. "Try again."

And then he had gone off somewhere in the blackness of the training room. Lucien moved quickly and quietly. He did not stumble in the dark; it did not betray him or cause him to falter in his motions. He practically wore the shadows, almost a part of them himself. Each time he struck, she never knew where he had come from, or where he would retreat to after every victory. She felt awkward and clumsy in comparison and she realized just how much Vicente must hold back on the rare occasions whenever he would spar with her.

Lucien was not holding back.

Saviren found herself slammed against the stone of the training room floor, her breath leaving her lungs with a painful jolt. She felt the cold kiss of the Speaker's sword at her throat, tucked easily beneath her chin as he kneeled over her on the floor. The Dark Elf sputtered and coughed beneath him, glaring.

Lucien regarded her glare with cold amusement. "Don't pout."

Saviren sighed and tried to wriggle free from beneath her Speaker, but he held her firmly in place. She was going to have to earn her freedom, it seemed. Then perhaps it was time to try a different approach to this little spar of theirs. Softly, and she could only hope, subtlety, she began to channel a low-level Charm spell into Lucien, her hand gently reaching to touch the arm that he was holding her down with. She wondered if this could be considered cheating. Magic _was_ something her and Vicente had trained frequently with.

However, if she was fool enough to think that Lucien Lachance would not catch on to the plan she was devising or to underestimate _his_ abilities in the darker arts of spell casting, she was even more of a fool to not expect any retaliation... There came a low chuckle and she saw the glint in Lucien's eyes shift from beguilement to intrigue. "So, you fancy yourself a mage now?"

Saviren did not even feel the spell wash over her, but she quite clearly felt the effects of it take their toll. Exhaustion washed over her and all of her energy seemed to physically drain from her entirely. Groaning in protest, she tried to squirm away from his touch only to find her will to do so diminish when faced with the effort of moving under the burden of a fatigue spell. "What… did you do?" Her speech was slurred while her head lolled lazily back against the floor beneath.

"What's wrong, Murderer? You look tired." Lucien's voice prodded at her tauntingly, just barely registered through her muddled thoughts. She teetered on the precipice of the waking world and sleep as her eye lids fluttered rapidly.

"Good night, Saviren." Lucien's jeering words were the last thing she remembered before she finally succumbed to her fatigue.


End file.
